Studio Shot

I start the year off with a potter in the studio,

wiping surfaces, labeling glaze pots,

getting under the bellies of the old clay bags that sit wondering if they’ll get to move on from a state of bagged-up mud.

I sift through the toolbox and the debris which has built up over the past twelve months, old twigs and empty biro cases have found their way in there,

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask them, ‘Did no one tell you this place is sacrosanct?’

I have a pair of imposing plaster tools escort the imposters out before all the metal tools are wiped down and oiled.

‘Happy New Year!’ I wish the toolbox, ‘here’s to another year of beautiful making together.’ The box doesn’t reply, sat there, its slack jaw lid hung open with the sweet preserve of WD-40 lingering from within.